Shooter's Confession
by UKnowSynMakesUWannaScream
Summary: A one-shot of the events taking place after the movie. Just read it!


***A/N: I have been wanting to write a fic on this movie ever since I saw it the first time but couldn't think of plot. Finally I have been inspired. I hope my story doesn't resemble any of those already written and if it does that was not my intention. Don't turn all Shooter on me! And also I love every SW fic I have read.***  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from secret window however the 2 doctors are mine. On with the story.  
  
Mort Rainey lay still on the worn couch in his multicolored robe. He tried for what felt like the millionth time to remember the past events that seemed lost forever in his mind. He couldn't remember planting his corn, or buying this new preppy wardrobe, or even getting his new glasses frames. It had been almost two months since his encounter with the sheriff when he was asked not to return to town again. He didn't understand why he made everyone feel 'creepy'. Sure he knew the rumors that they all believed. But rumors were all they were. Right?  
  
He picked up the phone dialing Ted's number in hopes of reaching Amy. He hadn't heard from either of them since he had signed the divorce papers. Every time he tried that number there was no answer. "The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service." 'That's weird,' he thought. He assumed that Amy and Ted had moved to a new residence to break all ties with Mort now that everything was final. 'What if they really are dead?' he thought to himself. "Don't be silly," he said aloud walking into the kitchen and grabbing a Mountain Dew from the fridge.  
  
He sat down at the kitchen table popping open his soda can. Mort Rainey was so alone. He was very aware of this now. The only person he really had any contact with, as of late was Sheriff Newsome. And that was only when he would stop by to accuse Mort or try to get him to confess.  
  
As if on cue there was a knocking at the door. Mort walked over to the door half expecting to see Sheriff Newsome standing on his porch. Who he did see through the window both shocked and scared him. He opened the door seeing Shooter standing before him. "What the hell are you doing back here? I fixed your damn story. Leave me the hell alone!" Mort said his voice rising with each syllable.  
  
"I just dropped by to see how you were doing, Mr. Rainey. I know how lonely you get out here all by your lonesome. How's Amy?" Shooter asked.  
  
"You leave her name out of your filthy mouth," Mort answered with sudden realization. Shooter. It had to have been Shooter all along. "I know you killed them."  
  
"I only did what you wanted me to do," Shooter said taking a few steps backward. "We'll talk later." With that said he left. Just like that.  
  
Mort was enraged. His life had been miserable and Shooter was to blame. Everyone in town despised and feared Mort because of what Shooter had done. Shooter had killed those people and left Mort to blame. He hated Shooter more than anything. He picked up the phone dialing Sheriff Newsome. As soon as he picked up the phone Mort started ranting. He told Newsome all about Shooter. His being back in town, about how he was sure Shooter was the murderer, about how Mort was innocent. Newsome agreed to stop by later to talk with Mort and possible wait to question Shooter, if he would show up.  
  
For hours Mort paced the living room of the cabin nervously awaiting Newsome's arrival. After what felt like an eternity he saw Sheriff Newsome coming up the driveway. On his way over to the door, Mort stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
"How in the hell did that get there," Mort thought to himself staring at Shooter's black farmer hat lying on his coffee table. He was lost in a trance unable to move his eyes to anything else. He was strangely drawn to it and before he knew it, he had place it upon his head.  
  
Newsome took it upon himself to enter the cabin without knocking. He saw Mort standing in the middle of the living room, a distant look on his face and a black hat resting on his head. "Hey, Mort, you haven't seen Shooter again since we last talked, have you?" No answer. "Mort?"  
  
"The name is Shooter. John Shooter," Mort said in a southern accent.  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"What's not to understand, Sheriff? Mort called you over here to meet Shooter. Well, here I am. And I confess. I killed Tom Greenleaf, Karsch, and Amy and Ted. Mort had nothing to do with it." With every word he spoke Mort/Shooter slowly inched towards the Sheriff. "And now I've said too much. You'll get Mort in trouble. I'll have to kill you too." Mort/Shooter said raising his right hand, which held his screwdriver ready to plunge it into the Sheriff's chest.  
  
Sheriff Newsome's right fist connected with the left side of Mort's face sending him crashing to the floor. The hat falling off his head and rolling a few feet away. Mort sat up shaking his head, clearing the cobwebs. He held his left cheek as he sat in a daze. He glanced up at Newsome with questioning eyes. "What happened?"  
  
"You don't know?" Newsome asked. Mort's blank stare was answer enough for him. He helped Mort up off the floor and immediately slapped handcuffs onto his wrists. Mort thrashed around yelling obscenities as Newsome led him to the cop car and shoving him in the back seat.  
  
After waiting for Mort to calm himself down, Newsome explained the episode that took place in the cabin to Mort. "You had the hat on, Mort. You said you were Shooter and you admitted to every single one of the murders. Then you threatened me. Mort, you're suffering from schizophrenia. You need help."  
  
"I do not," Mort said barely above a whisper. His eyes were clouding over with tears. What if that's why I cant remember so many things. Maybe, just maybe the rumors are true.  
  
They pulled into the town's mental hospital where Mort Rainey was admitted. They entered the building and Mort felt a chill run down his spine. This place was creepy. Two doctors walked over to greet them snapping Mort from his thoughts. Newsome and Mort's assigned doctors led him down a long tiled hall to his room.  
  
"Hello, Mort, I'm Dr. Marcello and this is Dr. Reeves," he said pointing to his co-worker. "We'll be your doctors. If you need anything don't hesitate to talk to us. Don't worry, we'll get you all straightened out," Dr. Marcello said as he unlocked Mort's room. Newsome removed the handcuffs and Mort stepped inside. Mort felt violated while the doctors removed his belt, glasses, and shoelaces. Anything that he could potentially use to 'harm' himself in any way. He heard the door click shut behind him as he glanced around the room. Boring. Plain white walls, one bed, one chair, and one barred window.  
  
"Well, if I wasn't insane before I certainly will be if I stay here too long," Mort thought as he laughed bitterly to himself.  
  
"I told you to listen to me. I told you to turn yourself in before you could hurt anybody else. I told you not to listen to Shooter. Now look where that has gotten you," the other Mort said.  
  
"Shut the hell up. You're such a nuisance to me," Mort said running his hands through his hair. "I don't need you. I don't need Shooter!" Mort yelled at his other self.  
  
He was unaware that he was being observed via video camera. "Look, he's talking to himself," Dr. Reeves called over Dr. Marcello. They watched as Mort turned side to side speaking and acting for himself as well as another person.  
  
Mort was exhausted and annoyed with this other Mort that kept showing up. He wished everyone would just leave him alone. He walked over to his bed and laid down staring up at the plain white ceiling. "Maybe I am crazy," he whispered to no one in particular as a single tear slipped down his cheek. He lay still just simply being as he slowly slipped into a permanent madness.  
  
***A/N: please review. No flames. If it is good I may try my hand at another SW fic.*** 


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